Carried Away
by cactusnell
Summary: Molly wants to see Venice. Sherlock wants to show it to her. As a surprise! Sherlolly


Sherlock Holmes listened to the footsteps upon the staircase leading to his front door, and immediately knew that his brother was on his way up to the flat. If the weight and cadence of the tread hadn't been enough to inform him of his brother's arrival, the intermittent tap of an umbrella would have been a dead giveaway. Mycroft Holmes entered the flat without knocking, as was his custom. "Well, brother mine, what is so important that you required my presence?"

"Your presence, brother, was neither required nor desired, simply your assistance. We could have handled this by email."

"Aren't you going to offer me tea, at least?" 

"I'm sure Mrs. Hudson has already started preparing tea, as soon as she heard your ponderous footsteps upon the stairs. Gaining weight, Mycroft?"

"The opposite, in fact. Are you losing your powers of observation, Sherlock, or was that simply a feeble attempt to annoy me?"

"If I truly wished to annoy you, brother, I assure you my attempts would not be feeble. I need your assistance in a simple matter…"

"You will pardon me, brother, but your requests, in the past, have hardly been for 'simple matters.' "

"Mycroft, do shut up and listen. I have decided to take Molly Hooper to Venice." The detective spoke plainly, neither his voice nor his expression giving away any further information. At least not to any ordinary person. But Mycroft Holmes was far from ordinary. He smiled.

"Mycroft, do stop your impersonation of a cheshire cat, and pay attention to my requirements. I know you often plan trips for our parents, and Mummy has gone on endlessly about that hotel in Venice, the one on the Grand Canal, at which you put them up. I will require the same suite, with windows opening onto the water…"

"A single suite, Sherlock? Interesting, indeed!" Mycroft continued to smile. Sherlock ignored him, but his older brother pressed on. "I take it you have finally succumbed to your, ah, affection for the charming Dr. Hooper?"

"I have 'succumbed' to nothing, brother. Molly has been looking a bit drawn and tired of late. Her supervisor has advised me that she is heavily over-worked and long overdue for a holiday. Human resources are despairing of her ever using her leave time, and it is throwing the little pencil pushers into a tizzy. Molly herself expressed to me, quite a while ago, her desire to see Venice." Here, the detective paused slightly before continuing with a slight smirk. "I believe she has an overly-romanticized vision of the city, where the canals flow with red wine, every gondolier is an operatic virtuoso, and a full moon rises every single night. No doubt my presence will quickly dissuade her of this notion."

"I have no doubt that the exact opposite will apply, Sherlock. What was her reaction when you proposed this holiday?"

"I have not informed her, Mycroft. It is to be a surprise. I intend to whisk her away from St. Bart's at the end of her shift this coming Friday evening. I have made arrangements with Mike Stamford for her to take a fortnight's leave, Mrs. Hudson will catsit her damnable feline companion, and, barring a zombie apocalypse, Lestrade will not be in touch for the duration. I need you to arrange accommodations and transport, to be paid for out of my trust. I assume you, or rather, the inestimable Anthea, can accomplish this?"

"Sherlock, let me get this right. You intend to transport your pathologist halfway across Europe, without asking her if she would like to be so transported, to one of the most romantic cities in the world, even without the wine-filled canals and operatic gondoliers, without any forewarning? And you intend to accompany her?"

"Of course."

"That may be considered a very romantic gesture. Or a felony. I'm hoping your intention is romantic?"

For the first time since the beginning of the conversion, Sherlock began to look a bit unsure. "Of course, it's romantic, Mycroft!" He realized, as soon as the words had left his lips, that he had given his brother the confirmation of his feelings for Dr. Hooper which Mycroft had hinted at previously. "You don't believe she will find it more felonious than romantic, do you?"

"Sherlock, surely you know, with all your powers of deduction, that Molly Hooper has been in love with you for years. And she has been a real friend to you. And to me. She kept your secret for two years while it broke her heart to see your friends mourn. I came to greatly appreciate her kindness, her loyalty, her spirit in those two years you were away. I do not want to see her hurt, or used, Sherlock. So, I ask you quite plainly, do you intend to abandon her once you return to London?"

"Mycroft, I am the one with doubts in this situation! While I was away for those two years, I came to the inevitable conclusion that Molly and I belong together, only to return and find her engaged to 'meat dagger'..."

"Ah, yes, Tom. Rather a dull fellow, Sherlock. It would seem that Dr. Hooper chose him entirely based on looks. It was hardly a coincidence that he resembled you, especially when she started influencing his choice of apparel. But he could hardly afford your bespoke suits, brother, so at most, he was a cheap copy."

"And yet he slipped past your radar, brother mine."

"I hardly considered him a threat, Sherlock. I knew it wouldn't last once you returned."

"You could have warned me, Mycroft."

"I could have, I suppose, but where's the fun in that," the British Government smiled, albeit unpleasantly. "But, to continue, I do not want to see Dr. Hooper used, simply to satisfy your newly reawakened libido, Sherlock. Unless you can assure me this is not the case, you will have to make your own arrangements."

"Brother, do you think it likely that I would use anyone, let alone Molly, for such a reason?" Sherlock scoffed impatiently at the mere suggestion.

"You forget, Sherlock, I have known you longer, and far better, than any of your friends. I know what you were like at Uni. Your addictions were not entirely of a substance abuse nature."

The detective winced at the memory, but replied evenly, "I think you will concede that I was the used as often as I was the user, Mycroft. And there were no complaints from either side!"

"I will concede that, while you harboured no particular affection for any of your conquests, neither were you driven by malice. Simply, how shall I put this delicately, by the rampant carnality of an over-indulged youth. I hope age has made you more temperate." And then Mycroft asked the final question, the answer to which would confirm, in his mind, his suspicions about his younger brother's intentions concerning the petite pathologist. "May I inform Mummy of your plans for your holiday, Sherlock? Just in case she should try to reach you."

Sherlock, of course, knew exactly what he was doing, and replied immediately. "You may inform Mummy of my plans, Mycroft. I am sure that she will leap to the same conclusions you have. She will start planning a wedding, and have her first grandchild named by the time I return!"

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"Only to the extent of the choice of names. Need I remind you that you are named Mycroft and I, Sherlock?"

"She always blamed that on Papa, though."

"Surely, you can't have believed that. When did Mummy ever demur to Papa's wishes? God only knows what concoctions she would have come up with had we been female!"

"Well, her grandmother was named Clytemnestra. Remember?" Mycroft smiled bitterly as he remembered. "I concede the point, brother, I will try to keep Mummy from concocting baby names until you return. But be forewarned, if she insists on a grandchild named after her ancestor, it will be yours, not mine!"

"You'll make the arrangements for the trip, then, Mycroft?"

"All shall be done to your specifications, brother. But, how about packing? If you intend to whisk her away, she will not be prepared. Has she sufficient wardrobe for a fortnight in a very posh hotel?"

At this, Sherlock looked a bit daunted. There were, evidently, details to be worked out as yet. But Mycroft put his mind at ease. "Fear not, then. I shall assign Anthea the task of making sure she is properly outfitted, and bedecked. I will book the suite, and arrange a private jet. All will be dealt with. Just don't change your mind, or you will never hear the end of it!"

"I told you, Molly knows nothing about the trip. There will be no recriminations if I change my mind, Mycroft."

"I wasn't thinking of Dr. Hooper, Sherlock," Mycroft responded as he dug his mobile out of his pocket, preparing to call Mummy, winking at his brother. "I shall ask Mummy for Nana Vernet's ring, just in case you should find yourself with a convenient finger on which to slip it. It never hurts to be prepared, you know."

"Perhaps you should ask her for our other grandmother's ring, Mycroft. In your own words, it never hurts to be prepared!" Sherlock said with a smirk.

"It's already at the jeweler's being resized, little brother. Anthea's fingers are a bit thicker, more muscular, than Gran's, possibly from all the exercise they get dancing across her mobile!" Mycroft said with a rather fond smile.

"Congratulations are in order, then?" Sherlock said, a bit taken aback, but not wanting to admit it.

"It would seem the need for congratulations is about to become mutual, brother mine." When the older man spoke this time, he had a genuine smile on his face, happy, perhaps, that his troubled younger brother was about to find peace at last.

"Do you really believe so, Mycroft? Do you believe she will accept me, after all this time?" The look on the detective's face reminded his brother of their younger days, when the young boy would look to his overly protective sibling for support and approbation, before he came to resent his dependence on such things.

"Sherlock, Molly Hooper accepted you a long time ago. It is you who have for so long denied your mutual attraction, affection, and need." His words had the desired effect, as the younger man's expression quickly brightened. Seeing this, his brother could not resist one last jibe. "Don't look so happy, Sherlock, until you get the bill. This little romantic gesture of yours is going to cost quite a bit. Couldn't you just take her out for some chips?"

"Molly does not want to see the inside of yet another chip shop, Mycroft. Molly wants to see Venice, and I intend to show it to her before it sinks into the Adriatic!"

"Well, little brother, enjoy your trip, enjoy Venice, enjoy your pathologist. Shall I arrange for an operatically gifted gondolier? I may be able to manage that, but I fear the wine-filled canals and the full moon on command are a bit out of my reach."

"Not necessary, brother mine. I shall bring my violin to serenade her!" If Sherlock noticed his brother rolling his eyes, he chose to ignore it. But his happy plans were interrupted as he heard Mycroft say, "Sherlock, how are you going to top this for the honeymoon?" His mind quickly started to assess possibilities. Given the lady's occupation, and predilection, he was wondering if perhaps it was possible to book a room in the catacombs of Rome. Or perhaps in Paris? He had heard of a Halloween experience in a makeshift hotel room in the underground burial chamber. Would she consider that romantic, or just plain creepy? And he smiled, thinking to himself that in his Molly's wonderfully eccentric mind, the terms were not necessarily mutually exclusive. He was a lucky man, indeed.


End file.
